


Disco Sheets

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Clubbing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deal is, if Adam wants to dance, Tommy gets to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disco Sheets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Viverras](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Viverras).



Clubbing is so not Tommy's thing. He's not big on drunk, sweaty crowds, or the over-sweet mixer going warm in his hand, and that guy in the corner giving him a sleazy come-to-papa leer is definitely not doing it for him.

He'll tell you what so fucking totally is doing it for him, though, and that's Adam. Adam--out on the dance floor in the hottest, tightest pair of whacked-out zebra-striped pants to ever crawl out of some crazy designer's head, and this shirt that's slit to his fucking bellybutton but somehow not gaping open all the way, only giving a few tantalising glimpses of bare skin--grinding his dick into some twink's ass. He's got one big hand on the guy's hip and the other on this girl's throat, his tongue shoved into her mouth. She's so very much Tommy's type, small and curvy, with long dark hair brushing the tops of her breasts, and oh man, Tommy fucking loves Adam. Loves him in insane, purely fucking certifiable ways.

Breaking away from the girl, Adam gives her a sly, sultry smile before turning to the guy, whispering something in his ear that makes him shudder all the way down to his toes. While Tommy's wondering if the guy just creamed himself, Adam flicks a glance his way, winks.

Settling down deeper into the couch they've claimed as their own, Tommy lets his legs sprawl wide, drags a hand up the inside of his thigh and stops short of his dick. He's hard. Really awesomely hard, precome smeared wet over his cockhead, his pulse pounding in his head and in his groin. It's all in the way Adam _moves_ , liquid hot and smooth. Like he's having sex with his clothes on with everybody out there close enough to brush up against him. Tommy knows exactly what it feels like to be pressed up against Adam's body when he's really into it, when the music's got him and all he wants to do is dance and grind and fuck. Just thinking about it makes Tommy's head spin like he's drunk, makes his cock throb. If that were him out there in Adam's arms, he would've already blown his load.

Which is why he's here instead of there, watching instead of doing. His call, not Adam's. Adam would so much fucking rather have his hands all over Tommy than some guy that barely knows him, but it's over too fast that way. The deal is, if Adam wants to dance, Tommy gets to watch.

Dragging a thumb down the full length of his fly, toes curling in his boots, Tommy blows Adam a saucy lipstick kiss.

In the flashing club lights, Adam's eyes go dark as blackest night. He grabs hold of the twink's hips with both hands and yanks him back onto his cock, grinds it so hard into the guy's ass the guy almost doubles over, this look on his face like he's getting fucked for real. The guy flails for something to hold onto, his palm smacking into a glitter-speckled railing. He hauls himself up, stumbling again when Adam kicks his feet further apart, wraps an arm around his chest and goes for it.

Some other guy on the platform above them glances down, double-takes. A heartbeat later the second guy is down on one knee, the twink's face caught between his hands, and it looks like he's talking, shouting something over the driving beat that the first guy really, really likes the sound of. With one last hard snap of his hips, Adam lets the twink go, slipping off smooth and wicked as a curl of smoke into the crowd.

Tommy loses track of him for a long minute. Sitting up, he squints through the mass of writhing bodies, surprised as hell they're not parting like the Red fucking Sea in Adam's path. Drawn like a moth to flame, his gaze lands on one of the half dozen pillars scattered throughout the dance floor, supporting the upper levels, and there, backed up against it with another pretty boy humping his thigh, is Adam.

"Fuck," Tommy hisses, shivering from the weight of Adam's attention landing square on him. He's not big on exhibitionism, either, but that slant to Adam's mouth is telling him crystal fucking clear he'd better get a hand on his dick right now or there'll be hell to pay later. He cups his cock through his jeans, gives it a squeeze, lets everything Adam wants to see show on his face. If he's not careful, he's gonna come before this gets to the good part.

Slapping on an innocent smile, Adam keeps his gaze on Tommy for a few seconds longer before he wipes it away, replaces it with a curve of his lips that isn't anything even remotely close to a smile. Stuck over here on the periphery it's more than enough to make Tommy moan. He almost pities the guy plastered to Adam's chest when he gets a good look at it from all of five inches away. Kid doesn't stand a chance. Not a fucking _chance_. Adam's gonna eat him alive.

A few fingers on the guy's chin tilts his face up and he goes easy, eager as a lamb to the slaughter. The first time Adam pulled that shit with him, like seriously pulled it, not even that watered-down version on national television that got everybody's panties in a twist, Tommy nearly died on the spot. Heart stopped cold, breath freezing in his lungs, the whole goddamn nine yards and then some. Even before Adam's mouth came down on his, he knew it was gonna be good, that terrifying, falling headfirst off a cliff kind of good where you're afraid to start and even more afraid to stop. Dirty and filthy and perfect, Adam licked his lips, sucked his tongue, stole his fucking soul with a kiss, and Tommy had been halfway to giving it away to him already.

By the time Adam lets the guy up for air, he's having trouble standing on his own. Keeping a hand on his elbow until he's steady, Adam gives the guy one last chaste little peck and sends him off into the crowd, dazed and confused and probably so turned on he's fucking aching like Tommy's been aching for a long while now. Tommy's got one hand gripping his thigh, the other digging into the couch's rough upholstery. He can't risk touching his dick anymore.

And he knows the exact second Adam figures that out. An electric snap goes through the overheated air, zings right through the crowd to twist up in a crazy crackling tangle in Tommy's gut. Adam's coming for him now.

Even as Tommy's frantically searching the shifting shadows and light, Adam gets the drop on him. A hand slides across his throat from behind, thick metal rings body-warm, and another slides down his chest, arrowing straight for his cock. He bites back a ragged groan, turning it to a hitched breath instead. He wants Adam's hands on him so fucking bad. He wants Adam all fucking over him, pinning him down, making him take everything Adam decides to give.

"So sweet," Adam says close to Tommy's ear, almost lost in the steady thudding bass rocking the floor beneath them.

Tilting his head back, reaching up to bury his fingers in Adam's hair, Tommy offers up his mouth. Adam traces it with a fingertip but doesn't take it, lets his hand slide down around Tommy's throat again like he's staking out his territory, making a claim and a promise all in one. When Adam pulls away without making good on it, Tommy spits a curse and slumps down into the couch, tries catching his breath. He can't take much more. He loves it, but it's gonna fucking kill him.

He's so out of it, so taken over by the wild lust spun through his veins, that he totally misses Adam coming around to sprawl on the couch beside him until Adam's fucking leg bumps into his. He jumps, letting loose with a laugh as he swings a leg up and over Adam's, settles square into his lap. Adam smiles at him, pleased and hungry, and that smile makes Tommy want to do absolutely crazy things. Insane, stupid, _wonderful_ fucking things, like live out of the back of a bus for six months, or climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower and hang out over the railing, or press their mouths together and breathe shaky, desperate pleas into Adam's, beg Adam to haul his cock out right here, fuck up into him where anybody, _everybody_ could watch, would know like Adam knows how much Tommy wants him, loves him, owns him. All that playing out there means nothing. Adam is _his_.

"Come on, baby," Adam says against Tommy's throat, big hands on his ass pulling him in to grind dick to dick, the heat of Adam's body burning into his through their clothes. "Move for me."

Trying to get closer, Tommy spits, "Fuck," when he can't manage it. He tugs on Adam's shirt, rising up as Adam sinks lower and then settling back down, even his fucking balls aching when Adam's cock nestles snug against his ass. Spreading his knees wide around Adam's hips, both hands braced either side of Adam's head on the couch, Tommy grinds up against his belly, down onto his dick. He's not smooth like Adam, too caught up in his own want to control how fast he fucks. He needs to come right the fuck now.

Adam's hands clamp tight to his hips, slowing him down, tearing a rough curse and a noise like a whimper straight out of his throat. He struggles against Adam's hold, mindlessly bearing his teeth in a snarl that makes Adam smile, and then digging them into Adam's throat, making him gasp and buck up instead. He bites harder than he should, sucks on tender flesh to make it throb hot with blood rushing beneath the surface. Fisting a hand in his hair, Adam yanks him away, a searing jolt of pain making his mouth fall open with perfect timing for Adam's tongue to shove inside it.

Tommy goes a different sort of crazy then. A quiet, desperate kind of crazy, clutching at Adam's face as he sucks on Adam's tongue, uses all the months and months of doing this to try to find the one thing Adam likes so much his control will finally snap. It's not always the same. Sometimes, it's a noise Tommy makes, hungry and demanding or hurt and helpless. Sometimes it's something Tommy does, like a reflexive jerk when Adam bites hard at his lip or a very deliberate hand shoved down the back of Adam's pants. And there are times like these when it doesn't seem like it's anything in particular at all, where at the start of a heartbeat Adam's got Tommy exactly where he wants him and by the end of it the whole world's turned upside down and Tommy's the one calling the shots, goading Adam into wanting more, giving it to him.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Tommy groans as Adam tugs up the back of his shirt, pushes a hand into his jeans, and, "fuck, c'mon, do it, put 'em in me, you know I'll take it, I'll take it for you," as strong fingers rub damp with only sweat against his hole. They're fucking all the time anyway. They fucked barely half an hour before coming out here. If Adam pushes up, in, he might find a little slick to ease the way.

When Adam doesn't go for it, Tommy grates, "Come _on_ , fuck, please," biting off a curse when teasing pressure turns to pressure with intent. It isn't even the rough drag of Adam's finger pressing into him that does it, though even hot and gritty, not nearly slippery enough, that feels good, amazing, fucking incredible. It's that anything he wants now, Adam will let him have. If he asked, Adam would bend him right over this couch and fuck him until he's shaking, until he can't walk anymore, can't even remember his own fucking name.

Choking on nothing but air, Tommy asks, "Tell me to come?"

"Please, baby, please," Adam says, kissing his throat, the inside of his wrist where he's got a hand braced on Adam's shoulder, "let me see you, baby, all of it. Everything."

All the heat coiled up tight and low in Tommy's belly snaps out, pouring free in loud, hitching noises he can't stop, in the thick, heavy spill of come inside his clothes. Muscles clamp down tight on Adam's finger, make him jerk and moan even louder, no question at all left in anybody's mind what he's in the middle of doing if they get a good look at him now. Through his jeans, Adam gets a hand on his dick, works him through the last of it and gets him in the biggest fucking mess, come smeared all over his junk, hotwet _perfect_.

Adam groans his name, cupping his jaw to bring him in for a sloppy kiss. The smell of spunk is thick on Adam's fingers and Tommy grunts in surprise, groping at the front of his jeans to find his fly open and his shorts soaked through. It makes him kiss Adam harder, like he's trying to fucking crawl inside Adam's mouth, until the smell of his come on Adam's hand is too much and he has to break away, nuzzle into Adam's palm, suck the taste of his own body off Adam's fingers.

Riding a pretty hefty cloud of post-coital bliss, Tommy doesn't even think twice before he's running his mouth, shit like, "You can fuck me here, if you want, like, bang me in the bathroom maybe, yeah, _fuck_ , you're so fucking hard, let me," while he's clawing at the front of Adam's pants, trying to get at his dick.

"Oh, god, I want to," Adam says, fingers in a vise-grip on Tommy's wrist. He nudges Tommy carefully up onto his feet, and Tommy's stomach swoops with the thought that Adam's gonna go for it, finally fuck him for real where anybody could catch them at it.

It's not the bathroom Adam steers him towards, though, but the blazing red exit sign at the very back of the club. The rush of outside air as Adam shoulders open the door slaps Tommy in the face, staggering him back a step.

Steadying him, Adam says, "I want to take you home," a kiss pressed close to the corner of his eye as Adam signals for the driver waiting at the mouth of the wide alley. The headlights cut brightly through the dark. "I want to take such good care of you, baby, fuck you soft and slow and watch you come apart for me again."

"Cheap shot," Tommy complains, cuddling in close to Adam's side even though he doesn't really need the support anymore. "That's really fighting dirty, like below the belt kinda shit."

Grinning, Adam reaches out to open the car's back door before it's rolled to a full stop. "In," Adam says, giving him a gentle nudge, climbing in after and pulling the door shut with a quiet thunk. "My place," he tells the driver, settling back with an arm slung across the top of the seat, an expectant look on his face.

"Yeah, okay," Tommy says, and scoots right on over, fits himself against Adam's side like locking into place. Belatedly, he grabs onto his fly, zips up.

"Now why'd you go and do that?" Adam asks, tracing the line of Tommy's jaw with the edge of his thumb.

"Drafty." Splaying a hand out on Adam's belly, Tommy breathes deep the smell of warm, clean sweat, the lingering haze of sex. "That was so awesome. You're so fucking hot out there."

Adam laughs softly, presses his cheek to the top of Tommy's head. Home's a good forty-five minutes, maybe an hour away. "You too, baby," he says, then, "wake you when we get there," as Tommy's already drifting off, content all the way down to the bone with Adam holding him close and the smooth steady rhythm of the road rolling by beneath them.


End file.
